


Spectre of Desire

by Saiyan_no_hime



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Gothic, Light Sadism, Madness, Masochism, Masochistic Bulma, Sadistic Vegeta, Shameless Smut, Short One Shot, slightly rapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiyan_no_hime/pseuds/Saiyan_no_hime
Summary: "He was darkness. He was pain, and danger, but above all, he was what she never knew she needed. He was pleasure. Her pleasure. A personification of all her deep-seated desires that should never have been allowed to surface. He was sin. And she was a sinner. She knew all of that. The question that was gnawing at the edges of her frail sanity was: is he real?"--Peak into the 1800's Bulma's mind as, in a typically gothic fashion, she is more and more absorbed by her passions, with the not-so-gentle shove of our favourite Dark Prince.--





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an idea that popped in my head ~more like hit me like a tow-truck~ during a seminar on gothic literature and sadistic works I attended in college. I more or less psycho-graphed this in a whirlwind of feverish inspiration, which is why it's so short, I think. But ideas to turn this into a multi-chapter adaption of Bram Stoker's Dracula have been swirling around my head lately, so I thought I'd post this as a pilot to see if anyone would be interested in the idea. I have been swamped with college work lately, but I'll find time to start writing this fic if you want. After all, Dark, Supernatural Vegeta is the best Vegeta right?
> 
> Well, the smut might seem a little rushed, but I hope you like it... See you at the end!

                                                                                                                      **Pilot**

He always came from the back. In the bathing chamber, the candle lit hallways, the dampened storage room. She was always alone; when wandering through the shadowed halls of antic stone bricks, that echo the gasps and licentious moans of forbidden pleasure. She wasn't supposed to feel pleasure; never pleasure. But he still came, ever faceless, ever ephemeral; immaterial in her mind, nothing but sensations.

It started with the stuffed heat of stale air, as if she was ensconced in a bubble, apart from the windy, chilly environment of the castle. Then she felt his presence, suddenly there, out of thin air, the warm spectre pressed against her. And his hands, heavy, harsh, gripping satin-clad hips, searing through, locking her in place. She couldn't go anywhere, she wouldn't go anywhere. Hard, stalwart chest pressed against her shoulder blades, so concrete while seemingly ebbing outwards sinfully, enveloping her fair, petite frame in gloom. She felt every part of him, melding with hers, overpowering her boundaries, instigating spurts of fire within her. Through strands of pale teal she glanced ahead and his breath puffed just above her ear, wet, laden with foreboding intent; it smelled of iron and salt. Vertigo assaulted her and she leaned back, searching in his presence not support, not comfort, but more.

Her heart beating out of sync, out of breath, drenched. And his hands, callous hands roved, ravishing her. It went up, grabbing, cupping, past the prison of bodice and lace; bare. She felt woman, that breast pulsating in his hand, rolling and pinching the nubs, pain shooting from her spine, radiating through her body, rushing the blood, bombed arrhythmically. Pure excitement, unknown but wanted, craved it. Ethereal as it was, lips pressing to her neck, puncturing, sprouting new prickles of pain, her own incisors exposed as she parted her lips, to gasp passionately, huge guffs of air fogging the glass of the large window in front of her. She hoped for a bruise, a mark of his, a claim. Then it would have happened, it would surely be real then, there'd be proof.

And the force of his movements, pushing up her skirt, layers of muslin to reach her, as if taking what was rightfully his. It ripped through, taking a hold of all of her, all she was and she was overflowing. Deftly, daftly, probing without hesitation, ruthless fingers plunging in, claiming every crevice of her most intimate part, without care – and it hurt. God it hurt. Good it hurt. She was on her toes, the impetus of him lifting her up. She felt it coming, the stoke, tearing his way in, possessing every part of her being. The sheer might of his thrusts rocked her whole, in convulsions too large to fathom and it all honed in his eyes. Two pinpoints of expanding abyss reflected among the dark-grey hue of the storms outside. Her heart would burst, the rapid, deep strokes consuming her and his darkness engulfing her with an animalistic groan, casting her perpetually downwards into the shadows and falling, falling into herself, back into herself.

The wind blew through the dim-lit library, wuthering past the lonely figure by the window and seeping into her core. The candle by the windowsill, snuffed out. The lacklustre scenery was restored; empty, vacant.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, what did you guys think? Has anyone read it till the end? I'm still perfecting my smut-writing technique, which is why it is absolutely essential and imperative that you guys comment on it, so I can improve. It will be very hard for me to start developing this idea and I will sure need a lot of motivation. So please, pretty, pretty please, tell me what you think, if it's worth working on or not. This is, after all, my first Vegebul piece, ever. 
> 
> xxxx  
> saiyan-no-hime


End file.
